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Tales from the Toon
By BADLY-DRAWN BABY
01 February 2008
We learned lots of things on my journalism course up in Newcastle.
We learned that apparently journalists are the second most hated species, after lawyers.
That puts us well below parking attendants, tax men and even librarians (although I think it might just be me that hates librarians).
And it’s true – nobody likes us.
I have only been in the job three days, but as soon as people find out you’re a journalist, something changes and they don’t want to speak to you any more.
In all fairness, if I were not a journalist, I would not speak to one about anything, not even the price of milk.
And yet I would not change it for the world.
In which other job can you speak to someone awarded an MBE for services to disabled people, someone who owns a really overweight cat, and a vicar about the solar panels he is installing in the church roof.
And still have room to talk to a local councillor about illicit gay sex.
Don’t get me wrong, there are unpleasant tasks – I did have to knock on the door of a mother whose son was stabbed before her very eyes.
Newspapers may be a way to pass a long, boring train journey, but just think about the journalist who had to go knocking on those people’s doors the next time you read one.
Oh, and if you live in the Paddington, Marylebone or Pimlico area, how about picking up a copy of your local Paddington, Marylebone and Pimlico Mercury when you’re out?